You sit collapsed as an empty mind
last bytes dissolved into your last breath and the droning sound of
hollow replaces pulse with ache.
It is lonely here, living in the alarm and the awakening where the dream
precipitates madness as its encore.
You are only half here, the other half erased to be brushed from the paper
by the same hand that fingers your egg like a fresh scab until you bleed a river of ridicules.
I see now it's not the vision that's attraction, you peddle your pieces to a
man called compromise for a place in the greater scheme until the only
thing left standing is the place you once stood. You have just reduced
yourself from static to dead air droning.
Or it could be the other way-take the wire to the other side of this metal
sky and you will see these stars are just projections. This is not real, which
means their thunder is merely a threat. Do you want to know the truth?
They need you. They are mechanical, maniacal, derived, you couldn't drown
in their gene pool if you tried, but they're all made up in disguise, selling the
very thing they most want but cannot posess-you.
And magic is the key to their success as simple sleight of hand steals your
autonomy leaving you believing you are in control. Tell me, do you trust your judgement?
My friend, your its been tripped.
Welcome to Metropolis...
